Krisdos Haryav!

Քրիստոս հարյա՜վ ի մեռելոց: Օրհնյա՜լ է Հարությունը Քրիստոսի: Krisdos haryav y merelotz -- ohrnyal e haroutioun Krisdosi! "Christ has risen and conquered death -- blessed is the resurrection of Christ!" Thanks, Rahmetlī Olsun Uncle Paul, for teaching us children how to praise the Lord in Armenian on Easter Sunday!

Armenian in Watertown and Cambridge

Marash Girl learned to read and write Armenian during her studies at college during her first year in Cambridge, Massachusetts . . . although she had heard Armenian spoken, heard Armenian sung, and seen the Armenian letters in print all of her life. While she was studying Armenian in college, she had the opportunity to practice reading and singing Armenian in Watertown at church every Sunday morning, singing from the hymnal SPIRITUAL HYMNS OF WORSHIP, compiled and translated into Armenian and Turkish (in Armenian letters) by E. E. Elmajian. (See Marash Girl, November 19, 2017.) . . . a joyous confirmation of the Armenian she was learning in college.

Yesterday, The Boston Globe Remembered Leo Kricorian

Above article from the Boston Globe, November 22, 2020. For more on Leo Kricorian, see Marash Girl's memory http://marashgirl.blogspot.com/2020/05/remembering-leo-kricorian.html posted on Wednesday, May 20, 2020. N.B. Leo Kricorian, how we miss you!!!

Remembering . . .

Growing up attending Watertown's Armenian Brethren Church every Sunday, the church in which her great-grandfather's son preached (her great-grandfather was the first Protestant minister in the Armenian Protestant Church in Marash), Marash Girl saw many little old Armenian ladies all dressed in black . . . little because they had little nutrition during World War One when they survived the Armenian Genocide . . . little old ladies who had lost their homes and their husbands . . . singing hymns to their Lord God . . . singing with hope, singing with prayer, singing with faith, singing with love, singing with gusto, singing with all their energy . . . If they could sing then, their children's children must sing now . . . must sing with hope, must sing with prayer, must sing with faith . . .

"YOU SIT DOW-VN!"

When Mummy and Auntie Lydia (this was before Mummy was married) visited Uncle Vartan's church in Watertown, Massachusetts, they walked to the front of the church to sing a duet. (Mummy had a very sweet voice and, later in life, sang in Roupen Gregorian's choir in Watertown, Massachusetts.) Before the two young ladies could begin to sing, a man in the congregation stood up and demanded, "Before they can sing in this church, they must give their testimony." Uncle Vartan, without hestiation, and in his accented English (he was tri-lingual and spoke and read Armenian, Turkish, and English), commanded, "You sit dow-vn." The man had no choice...and Mummy and Auntie Lydia sang their hymn for the church congregants to enjoy. Not sure if the fellow who demanded the young ladies' testimony enjoyed it!!!

"There Is No God. Prove."

"There Is No God.  Prove."  So began the otherwise blank final exam in Humanities Five, Introduction to Philosophy.  "Thank you, God," grinned Marash Girl as she began, hammer and tong, or should I say, pen and paper, to attack the question.  Her answer?  Her answer has been written throughout the Bible, throughout many a hymnal.  God exists.  She wrote two pages, asserting her belief, and the reasons for her belief, and . . . the final grades were posted.  She was the only student in the class to receive an "A" on the exam.  "Why was that?" everyone asked.  Do you know the answer, dear reader?

N.B.  Marash Girl may have written about this experience in past blogposts, but suffer her one more time to remember the graciousness of her Professor Aiken at Harvard University.

How Jesus Saved Marash Girl From the Drug Culture

Marash Girl knew no one in Cambridge who was not doing drugs.  "Fools," she thought to

to herself.  "Why would anyone want to get hooked on drugs?"  Cigarettes were bad enough!!!  (Although by the grace of God, Marash Girl had managed to avoid tobacco cigarettes as well.) When consistently pressed by those around her, folks who insisted, "But you don't know what a great high you're missing!" . . .   she finally reverted to her faith:  "I get my high from Jesus.  Wanna hear about it?"  And that, as they say, was that!  They never bothered her again!  Apparently they did NOT want to hear about Jesus!!!

Are You Happy In The Lord?

Mrs. Corlian would love to approach Peter on Sundays after the church service, asking him (as they both walked out of the church) in a loud, accented voice, 

"Pitirrrr . . . are you happy in the Lord?"

"Yes, Mrs. Corlian, I'm happy in the Lord."

"But Pitirr," continued Mrs. Corlian, "Are you happy in the Lord ALL THE TIME?"

"Mrs. Corlian, only crazy people are happy all the time!"

Thank God He's Not A Protestant!

Born in Marash as Bedros, and grandson of the first Protestant minister in Marash (Sarkis Bilezikjian), Peter would love to tell the following story, a story that has particular significance when one is aware of the anger that was caused, the rift in families, when the Protestant movement reached Marash in the 19th Century (via missionaries from Boston, by the way)!

Neighbor Woman:  (snippily and sarcastically)  So, I hear your son has become a Poghokagan (Protestant)!

Marashtsi Mother:  No, thank God!  He got up this morning, late for work, drank a shot of whiskey, swore at me, and walked out of the house slamming the door.  Thank God he's not a Protestant!

On Good Friday . . .

A while back, Jet Blue Airlines put out an ad that announced the following:  
Paradise for Half-Price.  Marash Girl started thinking about that.  Exactly what would paradise at half-price cost?  What does paradise cost anyway?  Simple.  Faith in Jesus Christ.  An acceptance of "the way, the truth and the life".  Not just the mouthing of words, but living the words, living the life, with the engine that runs life, Jesus Christ living within our soul.  So what would half-price be?

Luke 23:39-43New International Version (NIV)

39 One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at Him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

40 But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? 41 We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”

42 Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

43 Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

God Always Answers Prayer

Marash Girl remembers a sermon she once heard at the United Armenian Brethren Evangelical Church in Watertown, Massachusetts. Was it her Uncle Vartan  who preached the following?

God always answers prayer.  God may not answer your prayer the way you want the prayer to be answered, but God always answers prayer.

Marash Girl is certain that Martin Luther AND Martin Luther King would agree . . .

Prayoritize!

After a cup of hot chocolate at Starbuck's this week, Marash Girl was reminded by her friend Nancy: "You have to prayoritize."  Whether a slip of the tongue, or simple philosophizing, it's the best advice Marash Girl has been given in a long time.

CANDY MAN

Nishan Roubian, 1938,  at the "breaking of ground" for the Armenian Brethren Church in Watertown, Massachusetts.   Photo thanks to Mari Kricorian who left the photo to her son who gave the photo to his daughter, the author Nancy Kricorian

Nishan Roubian was a joyous member of the United Armenian Brethren Evangelical Church on Arsenal Street in Watertown, Massachusetts.  The children loved Uncle Nishan, as they should have called him; Candy Man as they did call him.  Every Sunday, after (a seemingly) unending church service, the children would run down the front stairs of the church to Candy Man, who would always be waiting on the sidewalk at the foot of the stairs (how did he get there so quickly) with his left hand in his pocket.  The children would run to him shouting, "Candy Man, Candy Man," grins on their faces, excitement in their voices.  As they approached, he would reach into his pocket and take out a handful of white, sugar-coated almonds, (Did he save them from all the weddings he went to?  Did he buy them especially for Sundays?) holding his hand out to the children who were jumping up and down, encircling him.  Candy Man, Candy Man, they all shouted.  Uncle Nishan, their parents admonished them.  Candy Man, Candy Man, the children shouted, as they crunched on the gift he always had awaiting them in the left pocket of his Sunday "go to meeting" jacket.

Tebowing in the 1960's: Richie Koumruian in Brooklyn, NY

It was in the little house on E. 15th Street in Brooklyn, New York, that Marash Girl first witnessed Tebowing.  It was her jokester cousin Richie Koumruian of firefly fame visiting his grandfather (Marash Girl's Uncle Manoog), and amusing his young cousins, by randomly and suddenly falling into the Tebow position, mimicking relatives who made a show of their religiosity, and sending us into gales of laughter.  Even then, he, like young Marash Girl, knew that in the Bible we are instructed to pray in secret.

		In Matthew 6: 5-6, Jesus delivers His Sermon on the Mount (King James Translation): ". . .And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." The closet we enter must be our hearts, for if not our hearts, how else could we follow Saint Paul's advice to pray without ceasing. . . (I Thessalonians 5:17) All of the above withstanding, this post is not meant to be a criticism of Tebow.  Tebow is posturing.  Posturing is part of football. And posturing is Tebow's way of taking a stand for Christ. Good for him, or as the old folks might have said multilingually, (and they were all VERY multilingual), Afferrim, djanum! Abris, dghas!

Let There Be Light: Grandma Yepros and the Clothesline

Funny the things you remember.  I remember my grandmother Yepros walking about the house as if she had sight. I would often find her in the back room of our cellar, lit only by the dim light of the windows which opened onto the cellar holes, windows spattered with the soil that splashed up when the fig trees (which were planted in the cellar holes) were watered.  The washtub was located in the back room, the room next to the large room that housed the pool table (more on that later).  I remember watching Grandma taking the wet clothes, one by one, from the tub of the washing machine and feeding my father's shirts, or my socks, or my little brother's pajamas into the ringer of the new electric washing machine.  How she did this without sight and without ever getting her fingers caught was incomprehensible to me and is incomprehensible to this day. I would watch her patiently put each piece of clothing through the ringer, toss the rung out wet shirt or nightgown into her big rattan basket, the one with a handle on each side, and when all the clothes had been put through the ringer, carry that now heavy rattan basket of clean, wet clothes up the wooden back stairs to the back door at the top of the cellar stairway. Holding the large basket under her left arm, she would open that back door which had a glass window in it through which everyone else could see the back yard and the clothesline, except she couldn't because she couldn't see.  She would make her way to that clothesline slowly, hoping (I'm guessing) that we or the neighbor children would see her and run to her to guide her to that clothesline, which happened because, once she reached the clothesline and set down that heavy basket of wet clothes,  she would put her damp hand into the pockets of her faded cotton apron, and give each child a piece of candy -- Joyce and Ronnie and Wessie especially who always saw her heading to the clothesline because their house was on the second floor of the brown shingled two-family house next door and they could see her whether they were inside or out.

I would stand in our backyard, a very little girl, watching my grandmother hang clothes and praying that Jesus would come soon so that my grandmother would be able to see again.

Here are the words of the chorus I sang as I watched Grandma, always in Armenian as my Uncle Vartan (Rev. Vartan Bilezikian) had taught me:

Aleluiah, Aleluiah, Hisous noren bidi ka, bidi ka,
Aleluiah, Aleluiah, Hisous noren bidi ka.

Halleluiah, Halleluia, Jesus is coming, is coming again.
Halleluiah, Halleluia, Jesus is coming again.

THE TORNADO AND THE WORD OF GOD: WILBRAHAM, MASSACHUSETTS

The first thing  Marash Girl saw on approaching the cabinless mountain were the two Bibles amongst the rubble of books, both with pages blowing in the wind. . . the only books, by the way, whose pages were blowing in the wind.  She noticed them, but that was all.  The massiveness of loss was so overwhelming, that when she saw the wet and damaged books, including the Bibles, she could not focus.  When she told her daughter Lorig about the Bibles that evening, her daughter asked what page the Bibles were open to . . . joking, she asked if the outstanding chapter and verse stated, "Go and do thou likewise," referring to an old joke that many of you may know. 

Yesterday, on approaching the rubble for the second time, Marash Girl took a moment to look at the two tornadoed Bibles and this is what she found.

One leather bound Bible lay open to the book of Exodus.

This leather bound Bible used to be on the end table next to the bed in which Peter Bilezikian slept on those rare occasions when he would sleep over in Wilbraham.  It lay open to the words of Jesus printed in red.  John, Chapter 16, Verses 22 ff.  "You now therefore have sorrow, but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice and your joy no man taketh from you. And in that day you shall ask me nothing. Verily, verily, I say unto you, whatsoever you shall ask the Father in my name, He will give to you." [AND THE FOLLOWING WORDS MARKED BY MY FATHER PETER IN INK]: "Hitherto you have asked nothing in my name.  Ask and you shall receive, that your joy may be full." 

Thank God, he's not a Protestant!

An apocryphal story (set in Marash, circa 1900) which Marash Girl's father, (who was the grandson of Rev. Sarkis Bilezikjian, the first Protestant minister in Marash, and the grand nephew of an Armenian Apostolic priest in Marash) delighted in telling.

So, taunted her neighbor, I hear your son has become a Poghokagan (Protestant).  

No, thank God, replied the mother.  My son woke up this morning, drank a glass of rakhi (arak), lit a cigarette, spit, swore and left the house. Thank God, he's not a Protestant!

Part 7. ABOUT THE AUTHOR OF APRAHAM HOJA OF AINTAB. PART 7 OF 7 PARTS

At the end of his life, Uncle Vartan was a resident of the Armenian Old Age Home in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, continuing to preach the Word of the Lord and to give hope to the folks living there -- most of whom were survivors of the genocide.  During a visit from his nephews [my father Peter Bilezikian and my Uncle Paul Bilezikian] in late 1971, Vartan asked, “Why is God  keeping me alive?”  They assured him that there was a reason.

And for sure there was.

In November of 1971, my daughter Nisha Charkoudian was born, and in January of 1972, she was dedicated to the Lord by Uncle Vartan.  He went to be with his Lord and Master that very week. He had completed his work on earth.

The descendants of Rev. Sarkis Bilezikian live on, as does his fearless spirit -- 

When my daughter Karoun, whose birthday is today, asked me several years ago, whether being spiritual was in our family genetic pool, I told her the story that you, dear reader, have been good enough to read, and that I complete herewith.

If you have not yet read the amazing tale of the courageous Armenian men and women who believed and lived their faith despite all obstacles, please check it out by clicking this link APRAHAM HOJA OF AINTAB in order to read online the book which my Uncle Vartan wrote with pen and paper.

Part 6. ABOUT THE AUTHOR OF APRAHAM HOJA OF AINTAB, Part Six of Seven Parts

My sister Martha, my brother James, and I grew up in Uncle Vartan’s church, the United Armenian Brethren Church of Watertown, where everyone spoke Armenian, Turkish, and/or English.  6 of us children, Uncle Paul, Aunty Zabelle, Grandma Epros & Grandpa Moses, my mother and father (is that possible?) would pile into one car and head off to pick up Mary Baju, and then to church on  182 Arlington Street in Watertown, where the sermons were tri-lingual, as was the hymnal which had been translated from English into Armenian (in Armenian letters) and Armeno-Turkish (in Armenian letters) by Rev. E.E. Elmajian.  Uncle Vartan preached the Gospel in all three of these languages, as his congregation, most of whom were survivors of the Armenian genocide, could understand and speak one, two, or all three languages. Though I could understand Turkish, I fondly remember the part of the sermon that was in English, and especially the wonderful little children’s sermon, a sermon which we loved because it was a Bible story which we could understand and apply to our everyday lives. . . Reminiscent of Trowbridge, and his father Rev. Sarkis Bilezikian, Uncle Vartan never forgot the importance of using language that was understandable to the listener: the languages spoken by his parishioners were the languages he used in his sermons. Thus Uncle Vartan created a meaningful experience for everyone in his congregation, including us kids! To this day, wherever I am, no matter what church, whenever I hear one of our old hymns--The Old Rugged Cross, Jesus Savior of My Soul, Rock of Ages, Blessed Redeemer--I am once again in the church of my childhood, Uncle Vartan’s church, listening to the joyous voices of Armenians who had lost so much, but still had their faith . . . they had survived the Armenian genocide, the women dressed in black, the men with bowed heads, singing the hymns together in all three of our languages: Armenian, Turkish and English.

To be continued. . .

Part 5. ABOUT THE AUTHOR OF APRAHAM HOJA OF AINTAB, Part Five of Seven Parts

ABOUT THE AUTHOR OF APRAHAM HOJA OF AINTAB, Part 5 of 7 parts . . . 

Auntie Elmas, as she was affectionately called by all who knew her, always supported Uncle Vartan’s endeavors, welcoming the folks who visited their home in large numbers for worship, spiritual or physical sustenance. She believed in the work that her husband was doing for the Lord.  I remember her admonishing us young ones to listen to Uncle Vartan, because he was always right!

l.to r. Rev. E. E. Elmajian (author of tri-lingual Spiritual Hymns of Worship), Evangelist Isaac Parnakian, Rev. Stephan Lazarian, Rev. Vartan S. (Sarkis) Bilezikian, Rev. Peter Agulian, Rev. Minas Bozuklian

Uncle Vartan, a self-educated man, was well-read in Biblical matters.  He could speak, read and write in English, Turkish and Armenian, and was considered a scholar on the Book of Revelations. I remember his dining room table, which when not laden with food on holidays, was covered with books and Bibles in 3 languages, as well as a multitude of letters from missionaries and believers throughout the United States and all over the world, folks with whom he kept up a lively correspondence. 

If you know of the present location of these letters which were donated to a site in California, please comment below -- we would love to continue research on Uncle Vartan's life, and these letters would be a wonderful resource, as he often traveled at his own expense to other parts of the United States, preaching the Word of God and the saving power of Christ.

To be continued . . .